


Tearing Down the Stage

by Anonymous



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: 2020 US Presidential Election, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Ew, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, M/M, Top Joe Biden, Unresolved Sexual Tension, What Have I Done, improper use of debate podiums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The first 2020 presidential debate was a disaster. Everyone who watched it knew it. But what if there's more going on between the presidential candidates than what meets the cameras...?
Relationships: Joe Biden/Donald Trump
Comments: 36
Kudos: 44
Collections: Anonymous





	Tearing Down the Stage

Chris Wallace looks into the camera painfully as he says, in a monotonous, flat tone, “And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the first presidential debate. Thank you, and good night.” 

Biden, however, can’t stop staring at Trump from across the room, his eyes narrowed as he glowers at the current president with contempt. Is this seriously the man who’s supposed to represent America for another four years? The same guy who treated this debate like a petulant toddler, throwing hissy fits and stomping his feet angrily every time he got interrupted? Unbelievable. His beloved country is forever doomed.

He never wanted to take office, had never really thought of it. He was Obama’s right-hand man, standing by his side through every achievement, every loss, every victory. President Obama was the sun, Lady Liberty’s shining beacon, and Biden was perfectly fine with how things were. It was nice, comforting. Familiar. 

And then 2016 happened. Donald J. Trump, a capitalistic slave who prizes the economy over human rights, took the seat as The United States’ 46th president and destroyed it, forever painting the pure, valiant White House a vengeful red. A government, once representing democracy and freedom, had been tarnished beyond recognition.

Obama had taken Biden’s hand and told him solemnly, “Joe, you have to fix this. For America.”

 _For America,_ Obama had said.

But four years later, with so much chaos and destruction plaguing this society, what _is_ America at this point? Is it still the Land of the Free, or a country riddled with corruption and lies?

After a few moments of smiling awkwardly towards cameras, trying to maintain his false, stalwart determination, he retrieved backstage and put back on his mask, sighing loudly. It’s finally over, the first debate he’s been dreading for so long. He doesn’t know how Obama could stand it; the mental stamina and grit one must bear when going into these things… it was like a pool of great white sharks just waiting to eat him up.

The most vicious one, of course, being Donald Trump.

“Take off that fucking mask, Joe.”

Biden turns around to find Trump stalking over to him, his mouth twisted in a perpetual frown. The suit he wore for tonight’s debate sharpened his already present features, the dark, striking color of the wool complementing his skin's deep orange shade. He looks lethal, dangerous, and it’s driving Biden up a wall. Aggravation bubbles underneath his skin.

“Mr. President, what a pleasant surprise,” he says mildly, praying to God that his voice doesn’t give away what an emotional wreck he is at the moment. “Unfortunately, I can’t take off my mask due to recent circumstances. As a loyal U.S. citizen, I must be mindful of others in ensuring that their health is my number one priority.”

“Cut that bullshit,” Trump snaps. “Stop acting as though you’re some kind of charitable Samaritan who lives for the people. I know you, the _real_ you, and you’re just as bad as the rest of us—”

“And what about you, _Donald_?” Biden interjects, voice raised. “Because of you, hundreds of thousands of innocent lives have died due to your ignorant response to COVID-19. And what was your response to that? ‘I brought back football’? Absolutely ridiculous!”

“At least I did something useful for once!” the President yells back. “I directly went head-on with China when everyone else, even that spineless, sorry-excuse-of-a-president Obama, was too afraid to do anything about it! America doesn’t need some pigeon-brained socialist who falls asleep during live interviews; America needs a leader, and that’s who I am, someone who takes charge during a time of crisis!”

“Take charge?” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Are you serious? You single-handedly destroyed America and everything she stands for! There are college kids partying without masks on while the mortality rate keeps increasing, people rioting in the streets demanding for basic human rights that you’ve deprived them of, and, despite all of the chaos and destruction you have caused, you refuse to acknowledge your mistakes because you are a narcissistic, selfish coward whose insolent pride clouds his judgment!”

Trump chuckles snarkily. “Just like how those drugs clouded your son’s judgment—”

_“DON’T TALK ABOUT HUNTER LIKE THAT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”_

Red colors his vision, and without realizing it, he slams Trump against the wall, his arm pressed to Trump’s neck as the Republican scrambles aimlessly for escape. Biden soon snaps out his reverie and drops his hold on Trump, eyes widened with shock from his own actions. 

Trump coughs and gasps as he catches for air, and for a moment, Biden feels bad for him, his mouth opened and an apology already forming on his tongue. It’s gone as soon as Trump looks up and gives him an arrogant grin. “Uh oh, looks like I made Sleepy Joe mad.”

Biden grabs Trump by the collar and yanks him in until their foreheads touch, their breaths mingling in between. “You have no idea how much I want to kill you,” Biden hisses out. “You have been a pain in the fucking ass since day one.”

“‘Kill’?” Trump smirks. “Come on, Joe, let’s be real. I know you’ve been watching me this whole time, and all for different reasons. You don’t have to deny what’s going on here.” He leans in, his lips caressing the shell of Biden’s ear as he softly taunts, “What, never done it with a man before?”

Growling, Biden rips off his mask, surges forward, and crushes their lips together in a heated kiss. They’re stumbling around, hands and arms fumbling everywhere and grabbing every article of clothing within their purchase and tearing them off. Biden doesn’t even know where their feet are taking them until they’re stopped by an object, which he realizes is one of the debate room podiums they had been screaming at one another just an hour ago. 

He lifts Trump up onto the stand, grips his hips, and grounds his cock into Trump’s ass. He popped open a cap of eucalyptus spearmint hand lotion he’d kept in his pocket before the debate to relieve some of his pre-debate nerves, generously coating two of his fingers with the cream before pressing into Trump. 

_“Fuck!”_ Trump exhales shakily, and Biden hooks his fingers upwards, listening to the loud groans and cries that come stumbling out of Trump like an endless waterfall. It was almost too much, the dichotomy between Trump in front of the cameras and Trump alone, gasping and keening for more; Biden lets that burn into his mind, every sound and every movement, and thinks with sickly satisfaction that _he’s_ the only one who will ever reduce President Trump, pompous asshole extraordinaire, into a cock beggar.

“Just imagine if we were still on camera,” Biden begins in a low voice. “Everyone would be watching, all eyes trained on us. And then the entirety of America would know how you like to take it up your ass and get fucked so hard you won’t be able to tell the difference between red and blue.”

He thrusts his fingers harder, curling his fingers. Trump arches his back, throws back his head, and groans loudly.

Trump lets out a breezy, high-pitched laugh. “Empty threats from an old geezer.” His mouth curls into a haughty grin. “Where’s the fucking, Biden? I’m getting bored.”

“You can never keep your mouth shut, can you?” Biden snaps. He pulls his fingers out and slams his cock in hard, ripping out a piercing scream from Trump’s mouth that resonates throughout the empty room.

Biden fucks him thoroughly, setting a punishing pace with each snap of his hips until Trump is a writhing, incoherent mess of sobs and moans. The heat is so addicting, so _good_ , and he hates himself for it, how he’s hit rock bottom so easily when he’s supposed to represent America and lead the nation to prosperity. He really is the worst, disgusting vermin, the lowest of the low.

But if he’s going to suffer for his sins, he’s dragging Trump along with him.

Biden pulls at the President’s greased, platinum blonde hair. “Beg, you piece of shit,” he mutters against his lips. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Harder,” Trump breathes, “Fuck me harder, Joe—”

The ragged pitch of his voice is all it takes. Biden gives a low, rough groan before pulling out farther and thrusting forward forcefully, pressing Trump up against the podium. Trump’s voice is raspy and loud as he comes, clinging onto Biden for life. 

At the same time, Trump’s climax entices Biden into his. The tight, shuddering sensation around his cock brings him to a finish. He loses control, hunching over, his eyelashes fluttering closed. This is when his thrusts become rough, rugged, burying himself as far as possible, and trying to eliminate any remaining space between the two of them. He’s practically on top of the podium when he comes rooted inside Trump with a winded moan.

They lay side by side together, panting softly in their post-orgasm, sweat-soaked glory. It’s Biden who breaks the silence by saying awkwardly, “So… that happened.”

“It sure did,” Trump nonchalantly replies. “Pretty good for a seventy-seven-year-old, I’d have to say.”

Biden hesitates. “But what does… _this_ mean?”

“Whatever you want it to be.” Trump starts collecting his trail of clothes scattered across the stage, slowly putting them on. He looks over his shoulder towards Biden, who’s still in his deep contemplation. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of things to sort out for yourself, Sleepy Joe. But as a candidate for presidency, is that what America needs? Their old man having a sexual crisis towards the end of his lifetime?”

“Fuck off, Trump,” Biden mutters, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “Just fucking shut up.”

Trump flashes a shit-eating grin. “Thought so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Friendly PSA from the author: FUCK TRUMP.


End file.
